


Lovers in Beautiful Spaces

by tea_petty



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Claiming, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Jealousy, Penis In Vagina Sex, Rough Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:20:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24942211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tea_petty/pseuds/tea_petty
Summary: She and Ivan meet again, three months following their impassioned tryst in the closet.
Relationships: Russia (Hetalia)/Reader
Kudos: 72





	Lovers in Beautiful Spaces

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to my Tumblr; tea-pettiest.
> 
> a sexy sequel to ‘friends in cold places’.

She’d never been to a meeting like this one.

That was what she was thinking, her body sunken into the expensively upholstered armchair in the corner of Mr. Bonnefoy’s elegant drawing room (and yes, that _is_ what he called it.) She was the only one in the room who wasn’t there representing a nation and quite honestly, she’d wondered all evening if her receiving an invitation had been a mistake. Or rather, a _series_ of mistakes.

Of course, she’d been let in at the door anyway, had enjoyed an elegant dinner, and now had joined the few others in the room as they sat around, smoking, drinking, and watching the entertainment Mr. Bonnefoy had brought in for the evening.

She had assumed she’d been invited to take notes for when they talked business, but alas, no business was ever talked about. She sat there, a fly on the wall, or maybe a flower, whom Mr. Bonnefoy had politely indulged with small talk for a couple of minutes.

When she’d asked about her own invitation, he’d merely shrugged and mentioned that from what he’d heard, she was good company.

This comment stuck in her mind the whole evening, lingering at the back of her head like a tiny, red flag. It did not escape her notice, that up until this point, she’d been the only woman present at this meeting.

Though this wasn’t the case any longer, she was still clearly the odd one out. 

Women – a brunette, a blonde, and a redhead, sashayed around the room as if Mr. Bonnefoy had been trying to collect a bedroom set. 

The veil of smoke did little to cover them up; the nipple tassels and thongs did even less. 

She had accidentally caught one of their eyes as they passed her, and the girl had shot her a wink. Now, she sunk low into her chair and pretended to be anywhere else. 

Thankfully, there were more than enough men to go around. 

Mr. Jones sat in the big, red armchair, a cigarette balanced between his lips, a glass of scotch in his hands, with the blonde and the red-head on either side of him. He looked right at home; the spitting image of the American Dream – holidaying in France.

She sipped her own glass of wine – one of several she’d used as a crutch that night.

Mr. Williams had left his seat as soon as the women had funneled in, politely excusing himself from the debauchery and instead going to look over the impressive collection of art Mr. Bonnefoy had curated throughout the years. 

If only she’d spoken to Mr. Williams more, she would’ve sought the safety of his company.

Mr. Wang, whose dark eyes she occasionally felt on her throughout the evening, shooed away a girl every time she came close to him, instead choosing to smoke quietly in his seat. He didn’t only watch the women, she noticed, his eyes skirting the room like he was checking to make sure everyone was doing what they should’ve been – or better yet, that they weren’t doing anything they shouldn’t have been.

Mr. Bonnefoy himself sat on his fancy, Victorian couch with Mr. Kirkland. Occasionally, one would whisper something in the other’s ear, and they would laugh together, hoarding secrets like lovers. They were thick as thieves until they were the only ones in the room, then, they were each other’s most damning rivals.

Finally, Ivan sat in the seat directly across the room from her, the brunette seated in his lap. His eyes seemed to burn into her, stirring the restless heat simmering under her skin, though that could have just as easily been the fever of inebriation – at least that’s what she told herself. 

She didn’t dare look back at him. Every time the brunette’s fingers twirled playfully in his hair, she felt a resounding, sickening tug in her gut. 

From her peripheral vision, she could see the other woman leaning in close to Ivan, her breasts pressed against his chest, her lips at his ear. 

She folded her arms across her chest, a little self-consciously. 

The guarded gesture didn’t help – if anything, she found herself obsessing over what his eyes had picked up from the small movement and how it compared to the motion of the woman on his lap.

She felt like she was going to be sick. She wanted to melt into the chair. Better yet, she wanted to go back in time and forget about the stupid invitation in the first place.

The woman in his lap looked so full and bodacious. When she moved, the movement seemed to reverberate through every luscious part of her body. 

She doubted she’d looked like that even when she and Ivan had been together in that closet, three months before. She eyed the way the brunette seemed to mold to his body; she wondered if she could’ve filled his arms the same way.

Those hands, now resting diplomatically at the brunette’s waist, had handled her with none of that respect and chivalry. He’d ripped through her clothes to ravage her, had pressed her and jostled her and bruised her when they’d fucked.

He had said so himself, in response to her own tenderness – she touched him like a lover. It had caught him off guard, probably because he hadn’t considered touching her that way, himself.

The brunette continued to make her catty eyes at her from across the room, the hold Ivan and she had on each other not going unnoticed by this new, scantily-clad voyeur.

Maybe that was his type, she thought scathingly; women who couldn’t seem to mind their own damned business.

She wondered if strippers got paid better than writers. 

The bile in her throat rose so that she thought she might drown herself from the inside.

“Pardon me,” she muttered, to no one in particular, and rose to her feet. 

She kept her eyes stony and fixed forward as she picked her way out of the room and out into the hall. She’d been looking for the bathroom, but her frayed nerves didn’t seem to mind that she hadn’t found it so easily. Really, she’d just needed to get out of the room. 

She walked a little ways away from the drawing-room so that at least if someone left, they wouldn’t catch her lurking about like a stray cat. 

She leaned against the wall and sighed heavily. Her heart still ached, her ego was still bruised, but at least the air was a little clearer here.

She closed her eyes, her posture sagging as she reached up to pinch the bridge of her nose.

“Tired from all that sitting? My, your stamina was much better the last time I saw you.”

Her eyes snapped open and she whirled around, her heart seizing against her ribs like it was an agitated, live thing, set on burrowing out of her.

“Well, maybe your _new friend_ will be able to keep up with you better.”

Ivan laughed and drew closer. 

From this proximity, she could catch a hint of his aftershave. That plus the wine in her system made her a little lightheaded. 

He was dressed in a turtleneck today, the fabric pulling across his broad shoulders in a way that made her particularly envious of the fabric. 

She swallowed down the feverish heat that threatened her, and it dropped straight down between her legs. 

“Is that a woman thing?” He asked, his eyes flashing. “Getting jealous?”

Today, his blue eyes looked closer to purple. She narrowed her own.

“Is it a Russian thing, then? To latch onto the first woman who throws herself at you?”

Ivan shrugged, his expression unbothered.

“Is certainly not Russian to run away.” 

Her temper flared, the heat of that melting to the heat of her arousal. The fact that there was arousal at all, made her angrier still, and then she was so hot she thought she might burst into flames entirely. Her face most definitely must’ve been red right now. 

She hoped she could burn him.

Ivan though, as she knew, tended to run a bit cold.

“Besides, who is latching?” He continued. “I’m out here with you. Though, I _did_ meet you first.”

She wasn’t sure what pissed her off more; the fact that he was implying that it was she, who was throwing herself at him, or the insinuation that he’d latched on to her in any way, shape, or form. She hadn’t seen him since he’d given her his jacket and ushered her back into her room after their meeting in the closet. She hadn’t gotten so much as a call, or an email, or _anything_.

“Screw you,” she muttered, unable to think of anything else that came close to conveying the fever of her rage or the pounding of her desire.

She had to walk past him to return to the drawing-room, though she had half a mind to just turn around and leave. She didn’t fancy either much; passing Ivan or going back to the sweaty, smoky room.

As it was, she didn’t get that far. When she tried to sidestep Ivan, a hard, familiar grip found her wrist.

“What the-“

Another secure hand clamped across her mouth and then she was being dragged through one of the many other doors lining the hall. 

Ivan nudged the door open with his foot and kicked it shut once they were inside. Her stomach leaped. 

She noticed that a queen bed sat pushed against the adjacent wall. So this was a bedroom then. 

Ivan didn’t seem focused on that as he dragged her to the opposite side of the room.

His hand left her mouth just in time for a string of curses to spill out. Her free hand beat against his chest, shoving and batting at him to get away.

“Let _go_ of me, I’m not going to let some asshole whisk me off for some quick fuck just because he keeps his brain in his-“

As they neared a sleek looking wardrobe, Ivan grabbed her other wrist and pinned her hard against the glossy wood.

“Sorry, my friend. I thought we should go somewhere private to finish our conversation.” He was smiling despite everything, seemingly unbothered by the foul words she’d hurled his way and her ineffectual fists at his chest. 

“Smart of me; you need your mouth scrubbed out with soap.”

Her battering hits hadn’t even been worth mentioning. 

Ivan wedged his knee between her thighs, and her cocktail dress rode up a little. Heat curled in the narrow space between their bodies. With his hands pinning her, and his body pressed so closely, she was at once struck by the memory of how strong he was – how easily he had picked her up and thrown her around like a ragdoll the last time they’d been together. 

Her panties were already a little wet at the crotch.

The door was shut. Even though it was just across the hall from where the rest of the party was, she couldn’t hear it and she had the sneaking suspicion that no one would come looking for them anytime soon.

“Oh, and since we’re chatting, for the record – the tassels and tiny underwear? Not really my type.” Ivan leaned in, his nose pressing to hers, his warm breath fanning across her lips. 

“Now if they were on _you_ , I might enjoy it a bit more.”

She was ashamed at how her breath caught in her throat, at how her damned, stupid, deceitful heart stuttered at this cheap little line. Her face warmed and she pinched her eyes shut, unwilling to watch his eyes gloat, though it just about killed her to tear herself away from the hypnotism of his gaze.

Her breathing roughened – her distress was palpable in how her chest brushed against his. He gave a low chuckle and she resisted the urge to clamp her thighs together as the sound stoked her arousal. 

He shifted back, looking down at her. She could breathe a little more easily now, though not by much.

“Tell you what – I let you go if you behave. Yeah?”

The heat of him through his pant leg was like a magnet between her legs. 

She wanted desperately for him to press it upwards – just an inch or so, just enough to provide her some semblance of relief.

She couldn't trust her voice, or really, any part of herself when he was around. She nodded mutely.

“Good, good.” 

Ivan’s voice was light, just short of cheerful. He smiled as he pushed off of the wardrobe, his hands slipping from her wrists, his knee leaving the spot between her legs. She had figured that once she was free, she would’ve bolted from the room. She didn’t; she’d merely separated herself from the hard surface of the wardrobe and crossed her arms over her chest so that perhaps her loss of control could be disguised as a sort of resolute surliness instead.

Ivan walked the length of the room, giving the fine, wood trim, and elegant furnishings a look about.

“Francis has good taste. Have you noticed?”

She didn’t answer, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Of course, he entertains a lot in here too.”

She flushed at the implication of what he was saying, and Ivan, catching the delectable hint of red at her cheeks, chuckled.

He went to the bed and sat down at the edge of it. He ran his hands over the duvet, feeling the softness beneath. After a few moments of this he looked up at her, his eyes unreadable.

She cleared her throat. In the time since he’d let her go, she could’ve left the room at any point, but she hadn’t. She could leave now (though she wouldn’t.) Was this the end of the ‘conversation’ he’d been talking about? 

And if so, what did it mean?

The inside of her wilted a little at the thought that maybe he was actually letting her go. Despite the earlier fight, she’d put up, the thought of leaving the room suddenly scared her.

“I can see why.” Her voice shattered the quiet. “It really is a nice bedroom.”

Ivan made a sound of agreement, then lifted his hand and beckon her over with two fingers.

“Come here. Sit with me.”

Obeying was not the issue, rather, obeying too quickly was what she struggled with; the heat in her, the yearning for his arms around her, were locked in a struggle with her pride. She had to admit, she found it increasingly difficult to root for her pride.

She went to him and perched at the edge of the bed, beside him. 

There were about six inches of space between them.

“Why do you sit so far away? We are good, good friends, remember?”

He patted his lap and here she could already see the outline of his erection against the dark of his trousers.

She stared at him, eyes wide. Frozen.

Ivan reached over for her wrist again and tugged her onto his lap. 

The stiffness of her body refused to react as he pulled her onto him, and so she fell across his legs, belly down.

She could feel the hardness of him prodding into her side. 

Her heart jumped in her, a fidgety, skittish, rabbit’s leap. Below the neck, she was frozen still, though her tongue seemed to have recovered itself.

“I _knew_ you had a thing for women on your lap.”

“I like _this_ woman on my lap.”

She could feel the chill of exposure wash over her legs and thighs as the skirt of her dress was dragged up. She felt herself shiver into him and knew that this wasn’t unnoticed or unappreciated. Ivan’s firm hands brought her dress over the swell of her ass, stopping at the small of her back.

She could feel the vicious heat curling at her face and between her legs. She clamped her thighs together; she trembled on top of him.

Ivan clucked his tongue.

“You seemed unhappy with other lady’s underwear choice, but you were wearing _this_ the entire time.”

His finger hooked around the flimsy black lace creeping into the cusp of her ass. He gave it a tug; the crotch of her panties was pulled from her slick slit in the motion, and she moaned at the sensation.

Ivan grunted in approval.

“How naughty.”

His finger disappeared, leaving her panties strewn sloppily around her hips. 

Caught by the vague discomfort of the displaced garment, she hadn’t expected the sharp sting to her ass. She yelped, jolting on his lap as an itchy heat suffused where the palm of his hand had made contact. She felt herself grow wetter, despite the pain. The sound of his slap had been so loud, she had half a mind to wonder if the men across the hall had heard.

Her cheeks heated.

“ _Ivan_!”

Where the brutish impact had been made, Ivan replaced his hand and fondled gently at the sore spot; she thought it was probably the only apology she’d be getting from him.

“Tell me now, how have you been in the months since I’ve last seen you?”

His question, though innocent on the surface, couldn’t possibly be so arbitrary in intent, especially not with the way he was touching her. She felt her thighs get sticky and she was worried she’d left a damp spot on his trousers.

“How have I…been?”

“Yes, yes, you know, usual stuff – how is your family? Have you been sleeping well? Any…new friends I should know about?”

“Are _you_ asking as a 'friend'?” she asked dryly.

“Of course.”

His fingers flexed against her ass – it was a warning squeeze. 

After seeing the way he’d cozied up to the entertainment that night though, she almost didn’t care about whatever punishment he could’ve bestowed upon her. She just wanted to see him hurt.

“You know what? I did have one.”

She could feel him tense in the silence that followed, and she relished it. 

“When?”

“Oh, I don’t know…middle of April?”

She’d slept with Ivan at the end of March. After two weeks of being ignored by him at work during the day and drinking about it at night, she’d finally decided enough was enough. 

Ivan’s quiet was vaguely unnerving, her frayed nerve endings fraying further like someone was pulling the loose thread on an old sheet.

At the same time though, she refused to feel guilty. He obviously had plenty of admirers without her, and plenty of time to indulge them.

When he spoke again, his voice was cold and low beneath its teasing surface. It bit into her.

“Well, _my friend_ , I suppose nothing’s sacred. Least of all what’s between your legs.”

She winced and twisted to try to get a better look at him, her guilt pushing her defensiveness to the surface.

“That’s not-“

That sting came down on her ass again, harder than the last time. 

Her defensiveness shattered, leaving her with defeat. Her throat tightened up and her eyes burned. She didn’t want to speak again because she could feel her lower lip trembling.

“Why must you tell me things that make my heart hurt? Why did you do it?”

The anger in his voice was plainer this time around. She was sad she had disappointed him and was disappointed in herself for feeling sympathetic for him, despite not knowing of Ivan’s own provocative history in the past three months.

If they had been anywhere else and in the privacy where she could spit and hurl her vitriol, if she’d just been the tiniest bit soberer, she’d have been able to return his petty jealousy in spades and her feelings wouldn’t have been so ridiculously hurt.

As it was though, she was in a strange room with a man who was giving her the attention she’d craved from him for months – even if it was hurting her. Like it or not, she _was_ drunk and her feelings _were_ hurt. 

An angry, hot tear slipped down her face and she swiped it hastily away before he could notice. But then another one slipped down her cheek, and another one, and soon they were falling much faster than she could wipe them away. 

Of course, Ivan picked up on the small fidgeting movements of her at his lap. His cock still stirred up against her ribcage, and this, with the humiliating way her ass was exposed and in the air helped fuel her tears.

One of his hands went to her jaw, his grip so tight it almost hurt. 

He turned her head, forcing her to look at him. She let out a measly hiccup and tried half-heartedly to pull away. 

“What?” Ivan asked harshly. “Why are you crying? It should be me who’s the one crying. _I’ve_ been faithful to you.”

He grabbed her and flipped her onto her back. Her smaller frame bounced against the mattress as he threw her onto it. In the next instance, his body was over hers, and his mouth was crashing against hers in a searing, angry kiss.

Despite his roughness, she felt the most satisfied she’d been all night. She moaned against him, her hands clutching at the front of his turtleneck, balling the fabric in her fists.

Already, he was forcing his tongue into her mouth, wanting to feel an absolute claim to her. Her lips parted; she put up no fight. She could catch the sharp taste of what he’d been drinking as his weight crushed her gently into the mattress. So, this was Ivan jealous.

Her lips moved against his, a commendable but clumsy attempt to keep up with his pace. Her hands moved across his torso, tugging at where the fabric of his sweater had a bit more give, struggling to pull it loose from where he’d tucked it in.

She ducked her head, momentarily breaking the kiss.

“Can I-“ she broke off, a little breathless. She hiccuped again, her breathing still stuttered from when she’d cried. “Can I take it off?”

She tugged again at the fabric of his sweater as if to make clear what it is she wanted.

Ivan sighed, but his expression had softened a little. His voice was no longer cold, just resigned.

“Even when you hurt me, I cannot say no to you.”

He leaned back, his knee again wedged between her legs. Her skirt, though no longer hiked to her hips, rode up high on her thighs. 

His eyes were fixed on hers, and she watched, wide-eyed, as he pulled his turtleneck up and over his head, tossing it to some forgotten corner of the room.

He paused as she looked him over – the last time they’d been together, he’d kept his clothes on. His torso and arms were all wrapped in a thick layer of muscle, his chest blanketed by a layer of silvery hair, that trailed down his belly, dipping past the waistband of his trousers. 

She’d all but stopped breathing.

Around his neck, was a faint white line, only barely perceptible against his already fair skin. Beneath his right floating rib, another mottled white shape seemed to ravage his skin, dimpling slightly where his natural texture never quite recovered. 

If she’d looked at his back, she would’ve seen the matted, knotted scar-tissue, crisscrossing over the expanse of pale skin, made paler still by enemies that had died long before she'd even been born.

She couldn’t even imagine what or who could’ve inflicted those wounds on him. A hollow pang went through her chest. She suddenly wanted to cry again.

He dropped forward again, his hands on either side of her body, caging her beneath him. As he leaned in for another kiss, one of her hands hesitantly reached up to hover a few inches before his chest.

He knew the question resting at the tip of her tongue; he could remember how he’d turned on her last time. Ivan would never admit it aloud, but he was ashamed of it. Ashamed of the marks and how they made it so he couldn’t let her love him the way he wanted her to.

“You can touch me,” he said. 

When she hesitated still, Ivan reached up, guiding her hand to him. 

She could feel the warm, firm play of muscle beneath his soft skin. 

She could feel his steady heartbeat under her palm. 

Oh God, this man could’ve asked anything of her and she’d have given it to him.

Ivan inched her hand up, bringing it closer to the column of his throat. 

Her breathing sped up at this, and as the rise and fall of her breath grew a little more harried, her eyes flicked up to his face, checking his reaction, trying to read how comfortable he was with this; his neck had been off-limits last time.

“It’s okay. Touch me.”

His voice shook a little at the end, but he kept guiding her hand up until her fingers were brushing gently at the white scar across his neck. 

He flinched as she did so and her breath caught in her throat.

“It’s okay,” he repeated, and then because it wasn’t reassuring enough, he paid her a small, dry smile. “This is price I pay for your loyalty then.”

His own chest rose and fell more steeply, but he remained steadfast under her touch.

When she’d studied the mark for a few moments, Ivan leaned in again to capture her mouth with his. It was enough of this for now – his body belonged to her as much as it did him, and vice versa. There would be more time later for these secret explorations.

His mouth melded to hers, lips moving with command to ensure that she knew; just because he was giving himself to her for good, didn’t mean that he wasn’t still angry.

“Assume now,” he growled, “that I am one who takes care of you.” 

He nipped sharply at her bottom lip, just short of drawing blood. 

She gasped.

“Assume also that I love you, even if the words don’t come so freely.”

At this, her face erupted into red and she ducked her head, suddenly shy under these iron declarations. Her heart fluttered inside her like a startled bird.

“No.” He ducked his head, forcing her chin up as he trailed equally rough kisses down her neck. “No more hiding – you’re mine now.”

His kisses were hasty, leaving no room to properly ravish her sensitive skin. His nose skimmed against her collarbone as he peppered kisses down. 

At the neckline of her dress, she watched his mouth meet his match, and after feeling a few sharp tugs at various points on her person, Ivan drew back, a deep frown at his face. He gave a sharp downward tug to the garment again, but her neckline wouldn’t budge.

“I don’t think I like this dress anymore.”

She laughed thickly – a sound that died no sooner than it had lived.

In the next moment, Ivan had turned her over again with a strong grip so that she was sprawled out on her belly. The haste in the motion startled her, the sound of Ivan yanking down the zip on her dress and tugging it loose, invigorated her. There was the sound of metal – his belt buckle?

She rose to her hands and knees and the dress dipped further, allowing her breasts to hang out; no doubt, Ivan’s goal.

His body was still over hers, like a dominating shell. He reached around with one arm to palm a breast. 

Ivan gave it a rough squeezed and rolled a hard nipple between his forefinger and thumb.

His roughness hurt her and that too, dropped right down between her legs to mingle with the musky, swirling heat that had gathered there.

“How do I make it so you know you’re mine?” he asked in a graveled voice.

“I know,” she gasped beneath him. “I know it now.”

“Should I mark you?” 

He gave her another rough squeeze as if to demonstrate. She had no doubt he’d left a trace of their encounter somewhere on her body; even before, he’d never been gentle.

“Should I fuck you so raw, that your body only knows to take me?”

She could want nothing more. Without thinking she leaned back, pressing her ass against his length, which had since been freed from his trousers. 

She could feel the engorged head of his cock press against her entrance. She was wet, but not all that prepared. She dreaded and yearned for how he might take her, in the truest sense of the word – her body, her heart – it was all his.

She could feel his warm breath against her. As a hand came up to move some of her hair out of the way, there was the sharp sting of his fingers catching in a snarl. She winced, and then his lips were at the shell of her ear.

“I’d put a baby in you if I could.”

His voice was melancholic at this. She hadn't known he wasn't able to have children. She only had enough time to feel this pity for a second because then he was hilted inside of her with a force that drove the air straight from her lungs. 

The burn was there in the vicious stretch of him inside of her. She’d forgotten how _big_ he was. Her chest rose and fell sharply, heaving with each shallow breath as she willed herself through the pain. 

He started moving immediately, not even giving her time to adjust. As he worked on sating his own desire, her pain spiked. She shook beneath him, letting out a whimper.

 _Fuck_ , it hurt.

Her voice caught in her throat, ripping from it like steel wool. 

When she pinched her eyes shut, he rammed into her from behind, knocking a few stray tears loose. They blotted the blanket beneath and disappeared into the deep red of the duvet.

His hips slapped against her, and despite how she struggled to adjust to his girth and pace, the sound of their coupling was _wet_. She relaxed, succumbing to his roughness, and it was here that the pain seemed to dissipate, and the swell of delicious friction seemed to wash over her.

The tip of his cock was hitting a spot deep enough inside of her, that she felt herself clench around him in a way that prefaced what her own release might look like. She found herself trying to push herself back onto him as if to meet him halfway and deepen the magnitude of their fucking.

His grip wouldn’t even allow her that; his fingers continued to bruise her hips, holding her still so he could take her; she wasn’t to afford him anything but the orgasm he dragged from her. Her heart vaulted inside of her chest, and she felt the tension in the pit of her stomach squeeze tighter.

She couldn’t possibly be anywhere close, could she? Then again, she’d been reeling all through the evening, just at having him in the same room as her. She tried to imagine the tight drag of him against her walls, him railing her as he was now, while she was hypersensitive with a post-orgasmic thrum. She clenched around him.

A hand slid into her hair and balled tight, the tight grip biting into her scalp.

“Forgive me,” he grunted. “It’s been so long, and-“ He thrust particularly hard. “Your body makes me so weak.” His head ducked into the crook of her shoulder, nuzzling into her.

Her heart seemed to stutter at this. She focused on clenching around him, wanting to bring him to his release.

Ivan was not to be outdone though. 

He reached around, one grip on her hip disappearing so that he could bring his fingers to her dripping sex. Clumsy from his frantic pace, it took him a moment or two for his fingers to find her clit. 

When he did, she jolted beneath him.

“ _Ah_!-“

“Come for me,” he maneuvered his middle finger the best he could across her clit, in gentle, flitted motions. Shocks of pleasure flecked through her, and now when she squeezed around him, it was unwitting. Her fingers buried into the duvet beneath, pulling it taut. “Let me make you feel good in return for the tears I made you cry.”

She moaned loudly as her orgasm hit her square in the chest. Her tight heat clenched around him, and it was only then that Ivan slowed, working her deliberately and fully through her release; hilting fully in her and pounding hard.

With the tug of her body around his, he found himself coming quickly thereafter too as once again he filled her, his body sagging on top of her even before his load was fully spent.

She couldn’t hold both their weights and so she fell into the mattress, his sweating form on top of hers. 

They both fought for breath.

When the clammy sweat at their skin had chilled, he shifted on his side, taking her into his arms, dragging her body against his. Her back was still against his chest, his arms curled protectively around her. When she felt his lips kiss gently at the nape of her neck, she felt like she could let her eyes fall shut, trusting he'd be there when she woke up.

A slow tap started at the window and picked up speed. Night had long since fallen, and so the obsidian of the sky made it so that the raindrops weren’t visible against the windowpane. 

This was fine – their eyes were closed anyway.

By the time the storm had reached a steady drum, both of them were already fast asleep.


End file.
